life, death, love and other forms of poetry by alcoholic poet

The urge. Selfish as it is. Stems of skin emerging from below. Pop guns and headless barbies our summary outline of the world. Even if I could learn, who could teach this deflated boat to swim. Life is random. And people do forget.

Those demons write their encyclopedias. Turning weakness into fact. The truth is whatever you wish to believe.

We must isolate it. Bits of bacteria on a swab tip of cotton. Each word an experiment. Desperate for gods loud enough to define it. Urgently to prove it can't be done.

If there is time in which we live then there must also be other places. If we can count how many. We can count how few.

If there is time at all. Ripples in the universe to tempt the lost. Into going places they don't belong. And thinking they can stay there.

The truth is only a distraction on this path to knowing. What I want.

And if I can't go back because I was never there. No one can remember my mistakes.